Empty
by SPNxBookworm
Summary: Tag to 12x03 "The Foundry". One shot. It's not like the bunker was ever noisy. With only two, sometimes three people residing, sounds tended to echo and it always seemed peaceful and quiet. However, never this quiet.


**A/N: So, I was enjoying this weeks episode, flailing at Mary, Dean and Sam and just, being happy with how this episode was more 'monster of the week.'**

 **Then they had to go and fucking throw that ending in there and I couldn't deal anymore. This plot bunny wouldn't leave me so here it is.**

 **If it isn't obvious already, spoilers for 12x03 "The Foundry". **

**Warning: Swearing, minor breakdown, feelings similar to disassociation mentioned. **

**This is not beta'd and is the result of an emotion fueled thirty minute writing session. All errors are mine.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

It's not like the bunker was ever noisy. With only two, sometimes three people residing, sounds tended to echo and it always seemed peaceful and quiet.

However, never _this_ quiet.

 **~o~**

Dean sees Sam flinch as the door slams shut. He eyes the look of disbelief and loss on Sam's face. He can't do this. Not right now. He needs to fucking get out of here before Sam becomes his target for anger.

God knows it's happened before.

God also knows every little bit of shit they have faced and yet, after for once hoping for a fucking miracle, _this_ happens.

Their life always decides to throw a curveball and rip the carpet out from under their feet.

Dean doesn't know how, but suddenly he's standing in front of his room. His hands quiver as they reach for the door handle, part of him wanting to do nothing but rip it off its hinges. He calmly opens up the door, closing it shut behind him.

He drops down onto his bed, eyes prickling, his elbows resting on his knees with his head in his hands.

 _Fuck this. Fuck all of this._

He doesn't know why he's angry, why his rage is threatening to spill over the brim. It's not like Mary died. She left because she needed time.

Dean gets that. He really does.

But she _left._

 _She fucking left._

Part of the ache that Dean feels is familiar. It's like being in his early twenties again and watching Sam walk out the door, heading away from him and towards Stanford.

The other part of the ache is alien to him. He can't describe it. It's a mixture of anger, of abandonment, of pain, of grief. He hates it, really fucking hates it.

Unable to sit still any longer, he gets to his feet, pacing, running his hands over his face trying to calm down and think things through rationally.

Sam's flinch flashes in front of his eyes and a broken sob escapes him, his knuckles now pressing into his eyes trying to stop himself from breaking down.

If this is how he is feeling right now, he can't even imagine what Sam must be feeling like. That kid never got a chance to have a mother.

Dean now understands why Sam had shown concern and uncertainty ever since he'd seen Mary.

He was afraid of this.

This exact thing that was happening right now? Sam probably saw it coming. Dean grunts, wave upon wave of emotion smacking him in the face. He feels like he's drowning. Every time he seems to come up for air, a rogue wave pulls him back under.

Heaving, Dean stops near his desk, his gaze falling on the photographs he had held a few nights ago as he drank himself to unconsciousness. He'd woken up in his bedroom the next morning, and could only assume that Sam and Cas had helped him.

It was never mentioned and Dean had been grateful.

He picks up the photographs, shaky hands thumbing through them.

That's when it happens, when he finally can't take it anymore.

"NO!" he bellows as he throws the photographs to the ground. He then picks up the chair next to his desk, and slams it onto the floor hard enough to snap the wood in half.

"NO!"

 **~o~**

Each yell, each loud bang that echoes, Sam should probably expect them. But he doesn't. Each loud sound that reverberates through the bunker, the _empty_ bunker, makes him flinch; hard enough to have his heart racing every single time.

He knows it's Dean. He knows what Dean is doing, he always does.

He wants to go console his brother, tell him that Mom will be back, that she needs time.

Sam expected that. He knew that after missing more than two decades of her life, things would definitely be out of order, out of control, for his mother.

Somehow though, he can't even stand. The minute Dean walked out of the room, Sam had slid to the floor unable to hold himself up any longer, his arms suddenly feeling empty when a moment ago, he was being hugged by his mother.

His fucking _mother._

Sam had yearned to have a mother, to know what it felt like to be taken care of, to be told that everything was going to be okay no matter what.

But she was gone now.

He expected it. So why was it hurting so much?

Why is it, that he can't even stand?

It's like the weight is too much, like he finally can't take it anymore.

Sam understands, knows exactly why Mary needs to leave. He _knows_ she will be back when she is ready.

He's done the same with Dean. They have parted ways multiple times to come back to each other again. It's hurt every single time, but he's dealt with it.

But _this?_ This is different somehow.

Nothing has ever felt this painful however. Nothing other than physically losing Dean has ever knocked the wind out of him to this extent.

And even then, while he had felt broken, he never felt _this._

He never felt devoid of emotion.

He couldn't even bring himself to cry, even though tears lingered right under the surface. He felt numb.

Almost like the time he lost his father. Yet, not the same.

 _Bang. Flinch._

Sam's breath hitched, his hands wrapped around his knees as his back rested against the wall.

He felt like he was ten again, waiting with bated breath to see John and Dean walk through the door of some random motel room, safe and unscathed, just hoping that they weren't dead.

Sam felt like he was ten again, wishing for his dead mother to hold him and tell him everything was going to be okay.

 **~o~**

 _Empty._

Even though Mary had spent a few days at the most in the bunker, she had made her presence known. She had made her children see light again, where they were seeing next to none. She had made them feel safe, feel like they had a family again.

Dean sat in the middle of his bed, gasping for breath as he tried to reign in his rage and agony, carnage surrounding him in the form of broken glass and wood.

Sam hugged his knees, sitting at the foot of the stairs between the library and the war room.

Even with the two brothers there, suddenly, the bunker felt _empty._

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 **As always, reviews are love!**

 **Side note: I am aware of my large amount of WIPs rotting in the dust. They all are being worked on, I promise. It's just hard to manage writing and med school since my studies take priority. I will update as and when I can. While I know some are marked as 'on hiatus', I assure you it's temporary. I will get back to them when I can. Thank you for all your support so far. It means the world. **


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